


burning up a bible

by Fitzrove



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Endeavour Morse Whump, I'm Sorry, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, teenaged Morse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 14:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18704467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzrove/pseuds/Fitzrove
Summary: 16-year-old Endeavour Morse isn't very happy about his current living situation.





	burning up a bible

He doesn’t belong there.

He’s known it since the moment he arrived at his father’s house, everything he had left tucked miserably into a couple of bags. He’s been prepared for what it could be like, he’s way too smart not to know what might be waiting, but the way _she_ treats him still takes him by surprise. The very way his name falls from her and his father’s lips, _Endeavour_ , seems more spiteful than lukewarm or even polite.

So he starts planning a way to get out of there. When he can’t lash out against them, he’ll lash out against himself instead. That’ll show them.

He looks through the few ties he has, comparing the length and width, thinking about whether they could withstand his weight when tied to a doorknob. He doesn’t know much about things like that, and he can’t exactly do practice rounds before actually… well. But he tries to plan it out, and through the constant studies he conducts whenever he’s alone enough prove that it wouldn’t be a good way to go. So he takes one of his father’s safety razors from the bathroom cabinet, dismantling it with the help of a hairpin (courtesy of Gwen) and a pair of scissors (from the kitchen). It’s sharp enough, it has to be to do its job, and thus it’s more than fitting for what he’s planning.

And one night in late November, he’s almost there, razor in hand. He’s ready to give in to what they all want and _do it_ , just out of spite, to send out a clear message for once in his life.

Then his eyes catch the book his mother started reading to him on his 8th birthday, _The Little Prince_ , laying innocently on the shelf and judging him, and then he’s crying.

He can’t do it. His mother would be heartbroken, disappointed, was she alive, and he doesn’t want to give Joyce a brother she’ll never know. _He doesn’t want to give Gwen and his father the satisfaction of telling her what he was like_. He needs to show her himself, be there while she grows up, and hope she won’t end up like he has.

He can’t leave the razor unused when he’s gotten that far, so he draws a red line through his arm with it. Just as a reminder.

There’s more blood than he thought to expect, and it terrifies him, so he spends a long time in the loo that night, so long that he starts hearing angry knocks at the door. He eventually manages to stop the bleeding, but the stinging feeling remains.

***

“Endeavour. Care to explain what the bloody hell this is about?”

He doesn’t look up from _Othello_ , hoping Gwen doesn’t notice how hard he’s gripping the book in his hands. He tries not to breathe too hard, because it would make his eyes water, and he doesn’t want that. Anything but that.

“ _Endeavour_. Answer me when I’m talking to you”, she snaps out.

Gwen’s holding the safety razor, the one he spent an hour cleaning and putting back together, but ended up shoving under his pillow after he was done. He hasn’t got the chance to return it to its place yet.

“I’m sixteen”, he says, going for an uncaring tone, staring straight at her to cover up how desperately he wants to avoid looking at her, to avoid even acknowledging that she’s there.

“I’d rather not grow a full beard.”

“You’ve barely got anything to shave”, Gwen says, not entirely buying into it, but not suspecting anything out of the ordinary. She probably thinks he’s going to start going around robbing banks with it. Endeavour makes a point of rubbing his chin lightly. The single angry red stripe, probably not healing for a couple of weeks at least, burns accusingly under his long sleeve.

“You just think that because I did a good job.”

“Cut the attitude, or I’ll have to have another talk with your father”, she says, but turns her back on him anyway. The disappointed look she gives him is a relief, at this point.

Endeavour doesn’t dare let out the shuddering sigh he’s been helding back for _months_ until he hears her footsteps on the stairs. He almost succeeds in swallowing the half-relieved, half-regretful tears that want to fall, and keeps reading.

**Author's Note:**

> this KILLS ME INSIDE but I had to write it cos Morse whump is amazing and he was such a sad teen and I'm dying oh n o
> 
> I don't normally write a lot of angst because I get so overly attached to characters, but this just appeared. From somewhere.
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated!


End file.
